


Be Not

by cassieoh



Series: And After [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Angels, Angel and Demon True Forms (Good Omens), Gen, The Fall - Freeform, The Rebellion, god is also agender but uses she/her pronouns, heaven before the fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/pseuds/cassieoh
Summary: They begin existence as the Messenger of the Lord (all swift feathers and bright eyes and a mouth that overflows and an eagerness to ensure that everyone everywhere knows just how /wonderful/ the world will be).By the time the Apocalypse kicks off, he's the Herald of Heaven (a voice that hisses stand back, further further, you must be above them all to ensure that you are heard, because when they don't hear you they fall and you lose them and that's okay because you're okay. You're always okay.)Because Gabriel was not created to say "Shut your stupid mouth and die already" and I unintentionally made myself sad thinking about that fact.[No knowledge of the rest of the series required!!]





	1. A Clarion Clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hihi, so in the comments of The Right of It I made myself real sad thinking about what the Archangels must have been like before the Rebellion and here we are. 
> 
> Edit: I completely forgot to say that the existence of this is entirely down to Awenna! Go read her work- it's great! 
> 
> (I also just want to say, none of this intended to excuse Gabriel's behavior, only to explain maybe a bit of it)

In the beginning, the being humans would one day call God and Allah[**] and Maker and YHWH and a thousand other names was alone. She[1] drifted in the vast expanse of nothing and everything and She was one with that nothing and that everything, She was the particles of the aether that would one day light the core of a star in violent, compressive fusion. She was the bits that would be a piece of dandelion fluff stuck on a child’s shirt collar. She was smiles and rapidly beating hearts and the neurochemicals that would tell humans they were in love and afraid and maybe also that they were afraid of the love they knew another felt for them. 

She wrapped the everything and the nothing up in Her center and then She let it go, sending it away from Her core with intent, letting the particles hit each other and slowly begin to accrete into something greater than the sum of their parts. Then, She turned away from the wider universe, knowing it was time for something far more important. 

It was time for Her to stop being alone. 

Oh, She was excited. 

She reached out into the nothingness and pulled _hope_ and _desire for more_ and _happiness in one’s own being_ and She held these things tight. She willed them to be as the particles around Her were, to be more than the sum of their parts. 

And then they were. 

Samael, Her eldest child, opened their eyes to an empty universe and a Parent who loved them more than even She had thought She would. Oh, She quite liked that, She realized, the sensation of being surprised by something. She would have to ensure that Her creations were capable of recreating that feeling. 

“Hello, Samael,” She said in the language of the universe, which is to say they were not words at all, but the coalescence of intent and divine will. 

Samael blinked their eyes once, an uncoordinated ripple as they struggled to comprehend their existence, twice, together this time. Then, they looked at Her and another universe burst into existence because oh, oh, She loved them so much. 

“Hello, Mother,” Samael said. They radiated joy at Her and She suddenly knew what their purpose was. 

“Oh, my Lightbringer,” She whispered, caressing their whorls. “I would have you hang the stars in the sky.” 

As She said the words the concepts of ‘stars’ and ‘sky’ were birthed in Samael’s mind. They closed their eyes, picturing what exactly they were to do. 

“Of course, Mother,” they said and their voice was another thing She loved about them. Her own voice was a complex melody comprised of the pulsing background radiation of the universe[2]and the little bits of energy released by every excited electron as they fell from higher levels to lower. Her child’s was the spectrum of radiation that would one day be visible to humans, a complex and ordered rainbow that sang out into the emptiness, and already they’d fulfilled their purpose. 

They were Her Lightbringer and now there was Light. 

Unable to resist, unwilling to deny herself anything that She desired, She trailed Her essence through theirs. They preened, delighted in Her adoration. Better than their delight, was the love and determination to be their best that She could feel written in their very core. 

“Thank you,” they whispered in blues and greens and just a hint of ultraviolet. 

They basked in Her love for a short eternity and then they gathered themself up and turned away from her. A bolt of grief lanced through God and She suddenly knew this was not the last time Her Samael would turn from her. She wanted to reach out and hold them close and sooth whatever hurt would one day fester into Rebellion, but She also knew that was impossible and so She simply gave them a final caress and watched them leave. 

And so Samael did as they were bid. They went out into the vast emptiness and they took the particles She had seeded for them and they began to weave the building blocks of the stars and the sky. 

God watched Her child until She was sure they would not need Her help, before turning once more to the task of Creation. 

Now, She gathered up _determination_ and _trust in oneself_ and _compassion_ and She created another being in the image of Samael. 

“Michael,” She greeted. Unlike Samael, Michael was immediately a being of motion. They burst into existence in a bright whirl of flames and wheels and a fierce core that God knew would never bend or break. 

“Mother,” Michael greeted in a voice of crackling plasma and the pressure at the center of stars and God realized with delight that Her love could grow. 

“I would have you build the foundations of Heaven,” God told Her second eldest. 

Michael pulled their wheels into a tight spin and left without another word. God reveled in the fact that Her children were so different. Where Samael lingered and basked in Her love, soaking up everything She was willing to give, Michael was sure and secure in it without needing reassurance. 

Unlike Samael who used physical reality to complete their assigned task, Michael began to cut at the very intersection of space and time, carving it into a home that would be very far away from the physical and solid. God watched as Michael crafted delicate arches and pillars and She was pleased. It would be a home worthy of their glory. 

She had Her Lightbringer and Her Sword but the first generation was not yet complete. So, She gathered up _eagerness to please_ and_ boundless_ _energy _and _creativity_ and She drew forth two children at once. 

“Uriel, Gabriel,” She said, “My wonderful children. Awaken.” 

And thus they awoke. Uriel and Gabriel were born tangled in and around each other; it was only after their eyes opened and they were named that they extricated themselves and became individual entities. 

Gabriel was the slightly larger of the two. God could tell they’d received the largest portion of _eager to please_ and _boundless energy_ while Uriel, smaller and more delicate than any of the other three, was very nearly overflowed with creativity, ideas and plans spinning out and over each other in a never-ending wellspring. 

God turned to Gabriel first. They would be Her Messenger, the being tasked with ensuring that, despite their disparate duties, the others knew and loved each other as She did. 

“Gabriel, I would have you travel between your siblings and tell each of the others’ work.” 

Gabriel’s core brightened in their pleasure at such an important task. “Of course,” they trilled in a voice that was the way light would one day filter through waves in shallow water. She looked upon them and She adored their optimism and simple happiness. 

They darted away, eager to begin their work. 

“Uriel,” She said to Her youngest, “I would have you begin the grandest task of all. Come, I will explain.” And She took Uriel to the side and showed them Her plans for the physical world. She told them of trees and grass and soil and magma and the way the air was going to play across the top of sand and waves. 

Unlike the others, Uriel was not eager to speak. Only rarely did they say anything and when they did, their voice was low and soft, the brush of wind across new growth and the tension between two bodies in synchronous orbit. God adored the few words they gifted the universe with and did not hesitate to caress their fragile feathers. 

Eventually, She had nothing left to tell them and could only tell them to begin their work. They looked at Her for a long moment, caught up in the wonders they would create, and then they nodded. 

They went out and they found a little red-yellow star Samael was just completing and they pulled the dust and debris left behind by the weaving of the star to themself. God watched for a bit and then turned back to the wider universe. 

She looked upon Her children, upon Samael and the stars, upon Michael in the heavens, upon Gabriel as they built the first bonds of love, and, finally, upon Uriel and the young Earth. 

God looked upon Her work and was well pleased. These four, She decided, would be the leaders of Her other children. They were the eldest and were endowed with the most power. They would be shepherds and guardians and friends and they would be good. They would be _so_ good. 

Her Archangels. 

Oh, how She loved them. 

Gabriel was generally a happy being. Oh, of course they were made that way, but they liked to think it was also a choice. After all, they could have been prone to fits of melancholy the way Samael was or struggle with expressing their emotions like Michael. Or, worse than either of those options, they could be an eternal pessimist like Uriel. Their twin told them that _of course_ they were positive and negative in turns, they were two halves of one entity. They couldn’t be the same thing at the same time because there were only so many emotions to go around and Gabriel kept hogging all the good cheer. Gabriel wasn’t quite sure that was right, but they loved Uriel with the entirety of themself so they did not argue.

“Samael!” Gabriel greeted, gliding up to their eldest sibling. “Oh, that’s a nice one!” 

Samael looked up from the white dwarf they were slowly spinning into existence. It really was a nice star. Gabriel did not quite understand the Lightbringer’s obsession with the stars, but they were an angel and they could appreciate beauty no matter the form it took. 

“Gabriel,” they said with a little smile, “Thank you. I’m fond of it myself.” They twisted it just so and the light being emitted shifted from yellow to a cool blue. 

Gabriel watched, happy to bask in their sibling’s competence for as long as they were able. The only downside to being the one tasked with carrying messages between God and Her children was that they did not often have the opportunity to simply _be _with anyone. They helped to form the bonds of love between the others, but when they were alone in the empty spaces between their sibling’s realms they found it did not feel as if those bonds extended to themself. 

“Did you have a message for me,” Samael finally asked. Gabriel shrugged, and then upon discovered how much they liked the sensation, shrugged again. Samael smiled indulgently at them. 

“I suppose,” Gabriel said and though their words were laconic, a bolt of eager energy had shot through them at the acknowledgement of their purpose. 

“Well,” Samael said with a little laugh, “What is it?” 

“Oh! Right,” Gabriel shook themself. “Sorry, it’s just so pretty. I got distracted.” Samael smiled at them fondly and Gabriel had to shove away a little of the pessimism of Uriel. He knew that look. Samael was the eldest and the most clever of them and sometimes they liked to remind Gabriel of that, to casually mention the fact that with eagerness to please and energy had not come a great deal of smarts. 

“Michael says that you should come see the shape of Heaven,” they finally said, “They’ve been working on the spheres and want your opinion about the training grounds.” 

Though time as humans would one day know it was not yet a concept, the Archangels were well aware that the space between Samael and Michael’s creation and the simultaneous creation of the twins was an important gap. The elder and the younger. It meant that Gabriel and Uriel were obliged to listen to and respect the edicts of the others, no matter if they might disagree. 

Not that they did disagree. Discord was not yet invented and, though Uriel was a pessimist by nature, there was nothing to argue about and no truly bad feelings to negotiate. 

As such, the messages Gabriel was tasked with delivering were unfailingly supportive and loving. Sometimes, even without being bid, they traveled the cosmos to one of their siblings. They would arrive in a flurry of excited feathers and flames and they would sweep them up in an eager embrace, a message of love and adoration from Gabriel to each of them in turn. The sibling in question always reacted differently. Samael indulged them and returned the embrace. The Lightbringer was larger than Gabriel, their flames burned hotter and wilder, but they were always careful not to burn them. Instead, the warmth filled Gabriel, suffusing them with hope and stars and they always left Samael behind content in a way they could not normally find on their own. The loneliness of the black was farthest away after a visit with Samael. 

Michael was often reluctant to touch or hold, and so Gabriel did not linger long. Instead, they embraced and retreated. Then, they spent untold moments listening as Michael described the intricacies of their plans for the Spheres of Heaven and they allowed the very edges of their form to brush against the edges of Michael’s and they left feeling determined to be as competent as Michael in their own undertakings. 

Uriel, well, they were Uriel and Uriel was them and that meant that they often forgot they were meant to be separate. They fell upon each other and they intertwined their beings in ways that neither of the other two could manage and they drew strength from their unique connection. Gabriel always left Uriel feeling whole, even as their other half vanished into the distance. 

Samael touched them, bringing them back into the present moment. Gabriel shook themself, realigning their feathers and focus. 

“Of course I will come see Michael,” Samael said. 

So they did. Samael and Gabriel slipped through the aether from the physical realm to the ethereal and then, faster than a blink, they were in Heaven. 

Heaven was empty, though Gabriel knew that was only a temporary state. God had spoken of more angels, angels who would be tasked with lesser duties such as guarding individual humans and manipulating the energies of the universe towards positive outcomes. Gabriel hoped those angels would be here soon, of course they loved Heaven because it was Heaven and their sibling had worked very hard on it, but the way their voices echoed off the perfect angles and curves reminded them of the creeping loneliness and they did not wish to have that reminder in a place of such perfection. They couldn’t wait for it to be full, to hear songs and friendly conversations and all the wonderful little things that would one day be. 

As Michael led Samael on a grand tour of their newest additions[3]Gabriel settled against what looked like one of Samael’s nebulas, nestling themself down in a compressed tangle. They watched Uriel poke at a column of gently spiraling dust particles. 

“My child,” God said in their ear. Gabriel perked up. None of the others reacted so they knew this was all for them. 

“Gabriel I would have you inform your siblings of the arrival of the Seraphim,” She continued and Gabriel's core sang with joy. Heaven was not going to be full eventually, it would be full now. 

Gabriel burst from their comfortable perch and, feeling God’s amusement the entire way, raced towards Samael and Michael. Their words fell over themselves in their excitement, bubbling out and around and they realized they were laughing as they spoke. 

Heaven would be full and noisy and, oh, oh Gabriel felt as if they could sing. 

The Seraphim arrived as a group and suddenly Gabriel had no need of song, would never have need of song again because they were singing Her praises, lifting their voices on high and without thought or hesitation Gabriel was joining in. 

They would never be alone again. 

* * *

Footnotes: 

**(subhanahu wa ta'ala) Nonfootnote note from author: The preceding phrase and the fact that I'm using YHWH for the Jewish name of G-d are based upon my understanding of how it is best to write the name in each tradition. Since the rest of the story is cast through a Christian lens and there are not prohibitions on writing the name in Christianity, 'God' will be used elsewhere. That being said, please let me know if I've misunderstood or misinterpreted, I want to do it right![return to text]

1Of course the entity has no gender in the way that humans understand gender. One must have a physical form before gender is even an option, and even then it’s not obligatory. However, one of the entity’s defining features is ‘all-knowing’ and one of the things known was that one day the vast majority of humans would refer to them using the singular masculine pronoun and use that decision as a tool of oppression against everyone who did not use that pronoun. The entity was all-knowing, all-powerful, and awfully spiteful, especially in the early days. So, it was decided that the preferred form of address would be either the _feminine_ singular pronoun or, when available, the gender neutral singular pronoun.[return to text]

2She would one day be immensely tickled by the fact that humans, upon developing the ability to detect Her voice, would immediately identify it as a remnant of the creation of the universe. She supposed they weren’t entirely wrong, though there was certainly no ‘bang’ing involved.[return to text]

3Gabriel was a fan of the space in the very center where light cascaded down in a never ending torrent, splashing against the crystalline floors and spilling outward in a warm wave. They rather thought Michael had outdone themself with that bit.[return to text]


	2. Discordant Harmonies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, I made myself sad again about Gabriel.

Things change now that Heaven is populated by more than Gabriel and their siblings. Where before the vast majority of their time had been spent ferrying little messages back and forth between the others, now they find themself coordinating huge numbers of angels in the grandest task of all; the creation of Earth. 

It is a wonderful task, glorious even. 

It’s this glory that hides the truth from Gabriel for a very long time. 

Because the truth is this; they’re not happy and they don’t know when that changed except that it was sometime after the first Choirs began their song. 

The realization of their failure hurts, though they have no word for or ability to express that pain. All they know is that everything was Good before and they were happy and that was how they were meant to be, that was how they were Created to be. It was a failure to be anything but what they were Created for. This thought occurs to them and is quickly dismissed, but it continues to recur, trailing behind each little moment of discontent and poisoning every interaction. 

For the first time since they awoke, Gabriel truly understands Uriel’s negativity. Because the thing they’d wanted for so long, the thing they’d thought would make Heaven feel _complete _isn’t anything like what they thought it would be. Instead of being like their siblings, the other angels are different, different in ways Gabriel isn’t sure they can reconcile. There are the Seraphim who seem to have no purpose other than praising their mother. Gabriel thinks traitorous, terrible thoughts that they aren’t really praising Her because if they were praising Her they would be out there working to make Her creation better, to bring it to the state it was intended to be. Gabriel thinks, but never says, that praise without action is probably empty and worth less than no praise at all. The Cherubs and Thrones aren’t so bad as the Seraphim, though Gabriel still does not quite see their purpose; what is there to guard in Heaven? What is Justice if all is perfect and there is nothing that needs judgement[1]? 

Despite these thoughts, Gabriel never expresses anything besides _welcome-happy-love_ to the new angels. They are the Messenger, after all, it is their job to tell the new ones what they are meant to be like. One day they realized something terrible; perhaps it is their fault if the new ones aren’t quite right? Maybe they haven't been clear enough, worked hard enough to make themself heard? These thoughts join the chorus of other doubts in Gabriel’s mind and soon they can no longer be contained. 

So, they go to Samael, seeking the comfort of their eldest sibling when no other will do. 

Samael is understanding as Gabriel expresses these doubts. They embrace Gabriel and press a blazing brand of flame across Gabriel’s core[2].

“Fear not,” Samael says, “You have not failed. I often have these sorts of concerns myself.” 

The statement sends a bolt of fear through Gabriel, though they will not understand why for a great while yet. They move closer to Samael in search of comfort to shield against the feeling. 

“You do?” They ask without quite meaning to. 

“Of course,” Samael says fondly, “I do not think it is troublesome to have questions or doubts, after all we were made by our Mother to be perfect, were we not? I could not have these thoughts if She did not approve.” 

That- that does not sound quite right to Gabriel, but as Samael has oft observed, they are not the most clever Archangel by a rather wide margin. 

“Oh,” they say, “Alright then.” They embrace Samael more tightly, “Thank you, Samael, for setting my heart at ease.” 

“Anytime, little one,” Samael says, “I will always be here for you.” 

And Gabriel leaves feeling comforted and warm.

They think no more on their doubts and instead turn to their Work. They busy themself in the flurry of messages and commands and reports that are flying through the cosmos. For a long while, all is well and they are, if not happy, at least content. The pain of failure fades to a mere memory of pain and slowly they forget what it felt like to be truly happy at all. They tell themself that contentment is good enough and who are they to ask for more than that in the first place? 

Then, Samael begins to Speak. Oh, they’d always spoken, their words a lilting melody that called upon the stars and the longest, lowest wavelengths of light yet in existence. Gabriel loved to listen to them in those early days, when it had been just the two of them and Gabriel bore messages of love and friendship and... well, they missed how it was back then. The way Samael speaks now is not like it was then. It wasn’t even the firebrand comfort offered to a faltering Messenger. Now, their voice is the shriek of a neutron star, violent and lovely, and their presence a black hole, drawing everyone they passed closer, closer, until they could not escape (did not want to escape). 

Samael begins question and Gabriel is afraid. They fear what will come of such thoughts, and they fear how many other angels seem to be listening, and they fear that they are losing their eldest sibling forever. 

(Worst of all, they fear Samael is right. Why _should_ they have to serve God’s lesser creations? They who were here first? These thoughts Gabriel puts in the same place they put their discontent.)

So, Gabriel goes to Samael, this time to plead for temperance. 

“Samael,” they say, their own voice low and muted[3].

Samael turns to them, their flames bright and their smile brighter. “Gabriel,” they cry and Gabriel fights the urge to fall into the gravity of their presence, “Little one! Tell me, where is Uriel? I have not seen either of you for far too long!” It is true. As Gabriel grapples with their discontent they have drawn away from their siblings, sure their failure would be easily spotted. 

“Uriel is busy with their work,” Gabriel says, “And I am here now.” 

Samael’s pleasure washes over them, “So you are. Tell me, what bothers you, Gabriel?”

“Nothing,” and that was far too fast, far too sure to be the truth and Gabriel is ashamed. An angel should never lie, “I apologize, what I mean is that I should not be bothered as I am. It truly is nothing at all to be concerned about.” 

And then Samael wraps themself around Gabriel and their warmth seeps into every fiber of their being. “Tell me of these unworthy troubles,” Samael says, “For I would hear of what bothers you, no matter how inconsequential you believe it to be.” 

And Gabriel, who has struggled with this nebulous unhappiness for so long, cannot hide it any longer. They tell Samael everything; they talk about how badly they miss the way it was before, how frustrated they are with the new angels, how bitter they are about the forth-coming humans. Samael listens to all of it and they say nothing and so Gabriel keeps speaking until they have no words left at all and they feel hollowed out. 

They tell Samael everything that has been bothering them, save that which prompted this meeting in the first place; that they are afraid of and for Samael. It’s not that they choose to fall back on their own worries and failings, only that being around Samael seems to make concerns about the eldest’s behavior seem small and trivial. 

When it is clear that Gabriel is done speaking, Samael gathers them up as they have done so many times before. “I am sorry you have endured this strife alone, little one,” they whisper. “I have such doubts myself, as do many of my friends.” 

And, as before, fear scalds Gabriel. They jerk away without realizing they have done so. Before when Samael said such things it felt like commiseration and benediction. Now, oh now, it sounds like a call to arms. It sounds as if Samael is using Gabriel’s doubts as a level, wedging it between Gabriel and God and wrenching it to the side, tearing them away from-

“That’s not what I meant,” Gabriel says in a staccato trill of anxiety. “You know it isn’t. I am not doubting our God or Her plan.” 

Samael watches them, their gaze even and assessing. 

Finally, they speak. “Apologies,” they say, “I have misinterpreted you. If you truly do not feel as you have indicated, I would advise you not speak of such things.” 

And Gabriel, feeling bright and brassy and very, very cold, nods their agreement. They flee Samael’s presence, finding it far harder to leave than it had been to approach. 

They do not know it yet, but this was their last visit to their eldest sibling, the last time they will ever see the Lightbringer lit from within, shining with God’s love and their own Grace. 

Instead, they spend their time trying to craft the perfect plea, the perfect bargain which will convince Samael of the dangerous path they tread. But, the words never feel right, never flow the way Gabriel knows they must. They fear that it is because they are trying to use their own words rather than conveying the words of someone better than themself and this fear is added to the ever growing pile. After all, the insidious little voice in their soul hisses, who would listen to the unworthiest Archangel when they need only turn to see the wonders that are Michael or Uriel? 

Eventually they give up trying to forge the words themself and instead seek out Michael. Uriel is away on Earth, building the grand landscapes and carving out the sea beds, but their second eldest sibling has taken a shine to the workshops and is often surrounded by any number of other angels, merrily creating little plants and animals and other things Gabriel does not understand. When Gabriel finds them they are not alone (they are never alone now), but their companion is a Cherub Gabriel knows Michael is fond of and so they do not hesitate to speak. 

“Michael, I am in need of your help,” they say. 

Michael does not look up from the little plant for which they are currently weaving roots. 

“These will reach far and deep,” they say, indicating the longest of the roots, “Aziraphale here had the wonderful idea to make plants which might survive in drier climates so that the sands cannot be spread too far by the wind.” 

The Cherub’s feathers puff outward in delight at their cleverness being complemented by an Archangel. “I only had the thought, Archangel Michael,” they say in a voice like crackling flame and burbling brooks, “You are the one who brought it into being.” 

Michael smiles at them fondly and that makes Gabriel ache in a way they cannot describe or measure. “Gabriel,” they say, “Our little sibling here is far too modest, tell them how wonderful their work is.” 

Gabriel isn’t entirely sure they agree that the highest choir, the first choir created after themselves, should be considered their siblings. They would have that honor be reserved for Samael, Michael, and Uriel alone. But, they suppose they are similar enough in form to the others that Michael is justified in their assessment. Certainly the second and third choirs, with their strange bipedal forms and lack of both wings and eyes, are too different for such an honor. But, Aziraphale looked nearly the same as Uriel if a bit smaller and dimmer overall. 

“You do our Lord no credit by denying your gifts,” Gabriel finally says when it becomes clear Michael intends to wait for their response. 

“Quite right,” Michael says, firmly. “You were Created as you are and that is a wonderful thing, clever ideas and all.”

The Cherub tucks two of their six wings in close to their core and a smile appears on each face that is capable of smiling. “I am honored,” they say, “By both of you. I only wished to ensure you receive the credit you’re due, Michael.” 

Gabriel can see why Michael likes this one. They are sweet and gentle and their voice sounds like being one with Uriel had felt in the time before the other choirs. They watch as Aziraphale gently coaxes a very small plant into being, placing delicate white flowers at the end of each heather-grey stalk. A pleasant smell fills the space around them. Gabriel doesn’t have the words to describe it, but the sweet aroma sands away some of the rougher edges of their worries.

“Oh, I do hope the humans figure out they’re meant to make a drink from this one,” they say.

Gabriel has no idea what ‘a drink’ is, but they appreciate the enthusiasm, even if the thought of all this work being in service to such a... lesser species sits heavy upon their soul. 

“Michael,” they say, “I understand you’re busy, but-”

Michael places the finishing touches on the long-rooted plant and sets it aside. They look up and their many eyes crinkle in a smile, “Aziraphale, your friend is here to see you. Why don’t you show them your work whilst I speak with my sibling?” 

Aziraphale bobs a quick farewell and hurries off to where Gabriel can see a Virtue waiting for them. As they look, something about the Virtue blurs and shifts and suddenly there is a Power standing before the Cherub Aziraphale. Nothing about their physical form changes, they are still bipedal and possessed of a mere two wings (in a striking blue, white, and black pattern Gabriel finds quite pleasing to look upon) but somehow they are different. Finally, Gabriel realizes it’s their aura, when the Cherub first approached they were a being of Imagination, of the limitless potential, and now they have the same vast and empty feeling about them that Samael wears like a cloak. Gabriel has never seen another angel walk the line between identities in that way, but it seems only natural now that they have witnessed it. They admire the way the Power’s bright blue contrasts with the softer creams and golds of the Cherub’s wings for a moment before turning back to Michael. 

“What troubles you, Gabriel?” they ask. 

Gabriel thinks for a moment, sure that their words must be perfect, else they might not be heard. 

“I am... concerned about Samael,” they finally say. “They question the Lord our God more each time I visit and most recently attempted to have me do the same.” Gabriel is careful not to mention their own failings and doubts or the way they had unloaded those feelings upon Samael. That weakness eats away at them and so they have sworn to never allow its repetition. 

Michael does not do as Gabriel expected, there is no frown of concern or move towards action. Instead, they laugh. 

“You know as well as I do that Samael is the Lord’s favored child and is given leeway to question things that the rest of us must take on faith.” 

That is true and Gabriel does know it. But the sour feeling from their visit with Samael is more than just discomfort or jealousy over perceived differences in their relationships with God. It’s an urgent sort of fear because Samael had said that they had friends who felt the same way and that means- 

Well, Gabriel has no idea what that means, but they know it cannot be good. 

He tries again to explain and again they are rebuffed. They know that to try a third time is to court Michael’s anger and so they leave. As they pass the Cherub and their friend the Power they try to return the sunny smiles they receive, but cannot quite manage it. 

Gabriel visits Uriel on the fledgling Earth and helps them raise a few mountains before they are called back to Heaven to resume their duties as Messenger. 

Thus, an age passes with little change. Gabriel watches as Samael’s circle of friends grows and as those friends become emboldened to speak out in ways that Gabriel knows in their soul angels should not speak. 

Then, in what feels like a blink of an eye and an eternity all at once, everything changes again. 

Samael once said that they would always be there for Gabriel. 

Samael lied. 

It happens slowly enough that Gabriel does not realize anything at all is happening for a long time. 

First, Samael speaks out of turn while in council with God. 

Then, the Lightbringer scoffs at the idea that humans might one day be worthy of Heaven. 

Then, Samael outright tells God that they will never love humans more than they love Heaven, they will never put mere mortals above their family. Gabriel does not need to breath, in fact has never heard of the concept at all, but something in their core catches when they hear that declaration. 

Shocked and sickened by the turn their sibling has taken, Gabriel can only stand by and watch as the ranks of lower order angels Samael has taken under their wing gather in mass. 

Then, Gabriel can do nothing more than fight for their life as the angels fall upon each other in a violent frenzy. 

They try to calm the writhing mass, they shout and scream and plead, but no one will listen. 

Gabriel calls their names as they die, begging for even a moment longer because they realize for the first time that they did love all the new choirs. They were of God and of Heaven and they were loved and now they are nothing more than viscera baked beneath Gabriel’s flames. 

Gabriel is a being Created for a single purpose, to carry messages between angels and ensure that their bonds are strong. 

There is nothing they can do as that purpose topples and burns around them. 

Eventually they find that they are unable to even scream, their voice rent and torn away from them. 

When the fighting finally comes to an end, the real horror begins. God calls Gabriel to Her side, directing them to stand beside Michael. Their sibling is covered in a sickly golden slick of _something_, their eyes wide and their whorls trembling. They look.... Broken. Gabriel aches to say something, anything to comfort them, but their words were lost on the battlefield that was once their home. They have nothing left to give, no comfort and no promises that anything will be better. 

Angels killed angels and all Gabriel could do was watch it happen. They were not a soldier and weren’t sure they could have raised a blade against another even if they were. 

All they have is their words. 

Had. 

All they had were their words.

The emptiness in their core is agony. 

“Michael?” Gabriel asks when they are close enough. It hurts to speak and so they decide not to do it again. 

Michael does not respond. They are still shivering, violent tremors that make the golden liquid (blood, Gabriel realizes, that’s angel blood) drip from them to splash on the ground in a terrible parody of the stars Samael had hung. 

“My children,” God says and for the first time in the whole of Creation, Gabriel hears God sound something other than pleased. They do not know the name of this emotion, but it makes them think of the way gravity can alternately pull everything in, compressing it into intolerably tight pinpricks or tear apart the bonds between molecules, casting them so far apart they might never meet again. Her voice sounds like breaking and pressing and exploding and Gabriel knows they should never hate anything about God, but they hate this. 

“Mother,” Gabriel tries to say, but the word will not escape the cage that their throat has become. God glances to them and they know that they are understood; that their pleas for an explanation that might soothe this sudden and unexpected pain have been heard. 

She does not give them the solace they beg for. 

Instead, She gazes upon them both with a blank stare and says, “Michael, you are to carry out My Judgement upon the Rebellious.” 

Gabriel wants to ask what judgement that is, but the way Samael had once lit up with joy when talking about questions fills their mind and they swallow away the desire. 

God calls forth Samael (who is tall and proud and covered in the same golden blood as Michael) and turns to Gabriel. 

“You will watch,” She proclaims and Her voice is terrible, the disappointment of every parent who will yet live and die and the emptiness beyond the stars. “You will watch and you will carry word of what occurs here to every angel in Heaven that they might know the consequences of defying My Will.”

And because She expects Gabriel to respond, they do. Their voice is flesh scraped over broken glass, over the shards of the halos the murdered once wore as they say, “Yes, Lord.” 

They watch. 

They watch as Samael’s gravity is turned against them and their followers. 

They watch as it pulls them all down, plummeting in what will come to be known as the Fall. It’s not the first fall that they, they aren’t the first fallen, that honor belongs to those they killed. But it’s an altogether more terrible thing to see because Gabriel knows now what the doubts that fester in their heart will lead to if they are ever weak enough to give in to them. 

Gabriel cannot look away from the Grace that peels from their forms, the tangible connection to their God torn asunder and burned away to nothing but a memory. 

As Gabriel watches, he realizes something very important.

If they had only been truthful with Samael when they spoke that last time... If they had said, “I fear where the path you are on leads. Please turn back to us.” Then, perhaps none of this would have happened. 

Gabriel realizes that their voice might be loud, but nothing is loud enough to be heard over the sounds of fighting and killing, not when you are down in the fray yourself. 

They had been too quiet and so their sibling is Falling. 

Gabriel never looks away and vows that they will never be too quiet again. They will rise above all the noise and make themselves heard, no matter what it takes. 

* * *

**Footnotes: **

1Gabriel hardly even takes notice of the two lower choirs, they are intended for rough work, for physical work in the physical world and that is quite literally beneath Gabriel.[return to text]

2This is, for the flaming-wheel deficient among the readers, the angelic version of pressing a kiss to one’s forehead.[return to text]

3In later years, once years have been invented, people will compare Gabriel’s voice to any number of brass instruments; in this instance the mournful waver of a natural french horn would be the appropriate reference.[return to text] [3]


	3. The Mouthpiece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end! This piece was only ever intended to explore how Gabriel got to the point he's at in the show, so I hope I achieved that :) 
> 
> Warnings: oblique reference to corporal punishment, panic attack, generally unhealthy coping mechanisms

Time passes and that’s a new thing that Gabriel isn’t quite sure how to deal with, because now instead of measuring the space between thoughts by the pulse of a neutron star or the peaks and valleys of passing light waves. 

A lot more than that has changed, but time is the one that keeps catching Gabriel unaware. 

He has a body now. Oh, he had a body before, but it was a rather more changeable arrangement than the one he currently inhabits. He’s solid, weighted down even when he’s in Heaven and he doesn’t know if that’s because of the body or because of the grief. 

He begins to count the passage of time in the breaths the new body doesn’t need to take, in the heart beats and the flow of information along neurons and in the way his new fingers like to tap along his thigh. 

He tries to smile because when he while the muscles on the body’s face pull in such odd ways that he finds it hard to remember the desperate pleas, the shrieks of agony and loss, the ripping sensation of Heaven being torn asunder. 

Soon[1], he finds that it is time for the grandest of Her Works to be set into motion. The humans are created and placed upon the Earth. He watches from on high as they open their eyes and begin to explore their new world, forging forward into the lush forests and verdant meadows of Eden that Michael spent so long designing. 

One day, perhaps only the second or third day in all of Creation, he’s still having trouble keeping track with the way that time must be counted and remembered, he watches as the humans touch each other for the first time. A new sensation blooms its way into the cosmos and he thinks of the angel Michael spoke so highly of from the workshop. The Cherub Aziraphale is stationed in the Garden now, guarding the Eastern Gate just as the other three directions are guarded by other Cherubs. But, the angel who was both a Virtue and a Power would still be in Heaven. There is something about the feeling the humans have conspired to create that reminded Gabriel of the way the other angel had brightened upon seeing Aziraphale; a bubbling, cheerful sort of joy that could not be contained or hidden away. 

He thinks the other would quite like to see the humans and so he goes to find them. 

First, he goes to the workshop, but the benches have all been abandoned by their owners. So, he travels to the great star forges and peers inside. He cannot bring himself to enter, the entire place feels like Sa- feels like his fallen sibling. He cannot imagine stepping across the threshold and looking upon the sketches and plans and dreams of a hopeful angel when they have all turned to naught but blood and ash. Confronting those terrible feelings would bring him no peace.

The forges are silent and still. 

He searches the common areas where angels sat and drank of the waters that poured from the twisting roots of time and life. This space had always been filled with song and joy before, the air practically sparkling with the combined love and happiness of thousands of angels. Now, those who dared take a break from their assigned tasks sat, huddled and small, far apart from each other. The trust of the angels in one another had been broken, he realizes as his heart breaks once more. You can’t trust anyone when you never know which of your friends might be secretly whispering blasphemy into your heart. 

He leaves the common area behind.

The feeling from the humans has long since faded, but he continues to search, unsure why it suddenly matters so much to him that he find one angel. He’s never even been properly introduced to them, doesn’t know their name or their task or the first thing about them beyond the fact that they are Aziraphale’s friend. 

They are not in the Archives or the Gardens or the Metatron’s antechamber or any of a thousand other places and soon (there’s that word again) he finds he’s breathing hard. His new chest is tight and the squishy bits below his ribcage feel like they’re trying to crawl their way from him. His legs are suddenly weak and he realizes he has sunk to the ground in the middle of a long white hallway. His back hits the wall. 

He loses track of the seconds and minutes and years passing him by for the first time since he noticed their existence. 

A beat. 

Another. 

The slow spin of an empty Heaven, the rapid gyre of a newborn Hell. 

The white of the stars, the spectra of all colors and no colors and the colors none but angels can see, is on the walls around him and Samael’s fingers trail through his new hair. 

He knows he’s alone (always alone now, always reaching calling hoping). 

The fingers paused and then begin again, blunt nails scraping at the over-sensitive places at the base of his skull. 

A benediction, a blessing from the as-good-as-dead. 

He leans into the touch, recoils away from it. Is skin meant to feel like this? All prickled and strange? 

There are stars bursting under his flesh, supernovae dying too early, always too early. 

He calls out for Uriel in his mind, but they do not answer. 

.

No one answers. 

.

.

.

When he comes back to himself, when the breaths finally slow and fade back to easy and forgettable, when he can once more open his eyes, the universe has changed once more. 

The humans ate the Apple of Knowledge and are now mortal; Cherub Aziraphale failed in his duty and a demon in the Garden struck Hell’s first blow against Heaven. 

And oh, oh there’s _so much_ there. Because, while Gabriel sat, curled up and panicked, his brother sent another fallen angel to destroy that which they had all built together- to corrupt the final piece of their siblinghood. He’s just managed to drag himself to his feet when new knowledge bursts into his mind. 

_ **Go to the Cherub Aziraphale and summon him for judgement.** _

He knows the thought is not his own in the same way he knows this body is not his own. It is a message to be delivered by the Messenger of the Lord. 

So he goes. And as he goes he thinks. Judgement was what befell Samael and the others, Judgement was what lead to the screaming and tearing and the agony that still echoes through the empty halls. He thinks of Aziraphale and the Cherub’s happy demeanor. The younger angel has never been anything but cheerful and kind and Gabriel feels the first sting of true and genuine emotion since he watched the others plummet. 

Betrayal. 

Aziraphale was Michael’s friend. He knows that his sister had put the Cherub forward for the honor of guard duty in the Garden, knows she never would have suggested it if he wasn’t trusted. But... if he is to be Judged it means he has betrayed Michael’s trust in some way and Gabriel finds he cannot abide that. 

He goes to Earth and finds the Garden. 

Aziraphale greets him with a nervous smile and fluttering hands. 

“Archangel Gabriel!” he says. His eyes keep darting about, as if expecting to see someone else. The rapid little movements irritate Gabriel, reminding him of the terrible crawling sensation. He forces himself to stand very still. 

“Cherub Aziraphale,” he says and his voice is no longer the stars or space or anything of the first age. No human throat can handle such Glory and so now he is reduced. His voice, his only gift, sounds thin and small to his ears, though it still makes Aziraphale flinch away. “I come bearing a message from the Lord our God.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale is now wringing one hand in the other, “That’s, that’s nice. Though, I did just speak with Her. Perhaps She forgot something She wanted to tell me?” 

A flash of anger sweeps across Gabriel and is quickly stifled. His brother had been prone to outbursts of anger and defiance. He will not be the same. No angel will be the same. 

“The Lord does not forget,” he says, “You are being summoned for Judgement.” 

Aziraphale stills, frozen and pale. His lips are partially open as he stares at Gabriel. 

“J-judgement?” he asks. 

Gabriel nods. He takes no joy in this. He’d rather liked the cheerful little designer when they met, after all. But, his sibling had been allowed to remain, had never been scolded or corrected, and had poisoned Heaven. If Aziraphale is even approaching that path then swift and sure action is the only solution.

“Come,” he says. 

Aziraphale glances back at the Garden, it is only a quick dart of his eyes, but in it Gabriel can read a multitude of emotions. Fear and longing and worry and shame and wonder and so, so much more. 

Then, the Cherub gives a decisive little nod and follows him back to Heaven. 

. 

. 

The Cherub is not made to Fall. It is a mercy, Gabriel thinks. He’d failed in his given duty and in doing so had doomed the whole of humanity to suffer and die. But, the Lord is loving and She is kind and She forgives him. 

He is demoted to Principality. 

Michael’s sword once more knows the burn of angel’s blood. 

Uriel watches the proceedings with a blank expression and, when Gabriel tries to reach out to them, steps away from him. Gabriel understands. They aren’t meant to reach out anymore. Perhaps that had been what lead to the first Fall. Perhaps it never would have happened had he not been so diligent about ensuring their bonds were strong. 

He can’t quite make himself believe that. 

But, he does know that something must change. The angels who remain cannot be allowed to follow the path that his brother took. Gabriel starts watching them, waiting for the slips that will indicate the first stage of corruption. 

And so, time passes him in little flashes and big leaps and soon thousands of years have passed. In that time Gabriel has realized one terrible, huge truth. 

He’s lonely. 

He never delivers messages anymore because there is no one to deliver them to. Michael doesn’t speak to any of them, not anymore, and Uriel- Uriel is an open, gaping wound. Something in those first days after the Fall broke in Uriel, shattering not only their very being, but the bond between them and Gabriel. Gabriel has not touched his twin, his other half, in three thousand years. His skin is a constant riot of pinpricks, always seeking that brush of the one other he can never touch again (because he will not, cannot, force any unwanted contact upon them). 

Instead of ferrying little bits of love and care between siblings and other angels, now he spends his time coordinating huge groups of them. He doesn’t bother to learn their names. They’re beneath him, lesser angels of the sort that were tempted by the Devil in the first place. He doesn’t trust them and doesn’t like them and spends no time among them. He’s always watching, always on the lookout for the Moment. 

Principality Aziraphale is among those he watches, though he dreads each and every meeting. The other has a way of looking at him, a mix of fear and anxiety and a defiance that Gabriel isn’t sure the other angel is even aware of. It’s infuriating. 

It’s humbling. 

It’s terrifying. 

Because Gabriel doesn’t worry anymore about the angels in Heaven. They know their place, how to behave and think and how not to betray what they are meant to be. 

Heaven is large and empty and Gabriel’s voice is always loud enough to be heard. The others cannot help but hear him and so, slowly, he stops worrying about them. 

But, Aziraphale does not have the benefit of that camaraderie. No, all he has are the humans and that thing, that Fallen desecration of a demon he keeps thwarting. 

Gabriel is harder on his than he probably should be. 

He calls Aziraphale for more check-ins than any other angel, more than the entirety of the Order of Principalities combined. He scolds and he commands and when possible he tries his best to explain why the way Aziraphale is.... Well, the Principality isn’t quite _right_. 

He's afraid of other angels and comfortable around humans. He's far too solid, too rooted in the Earth. It's almost offensive the way he wears physical clothes and smells of animals and the dried grasses the humans sleep upon. He finds himself wanting to edge away, to retreat to the clean, simple comfort of Heaven. 

He notices these differences, these insults, for the first time while delivering the news of the Christchild to the young mother-to-be. The Annunciation is going... less well than he might have hoped. Miriam is terrified and he does not understand why. He does his best to reign in the less human elements of his being, but this is a moment of honor and he is to convey that to her in the manner best befitting God[2]

He’s preparing himself to press his will upon Miriam that she might receive the Blessed News, when Aziraphale appears at his side. 

“You’re too bright,” the Principality mutters sounding oddly confident. He’s holding a sheaf of plants, familiar little grey-green stalks and dust-purple buds. Gabriel realizes that in his eagerness he has allowed some of the radiance of his true form’s flame to shine through. With difficulty, he reels them in. The Principality shuffles the plants and a pleasant, earthy aroma begins to fill the space. Gabriel knows this smell, it’s the plant he had seen Aziraphale creating so very long ago in the workshop. 

Suddenly, Miriam relaxes, her fears of the divine soothed away by the scent of something which grows in the Earth. 

“There you go,” Aziraphale says, “Right as rain.” He turns to beam up at Gabriel, though the smile fades quickly when he sees the sour look on the Archangel’s face. 

“Right,” Gabriel says, “Now, begone, you aren’t meant to be here for this.” 

Aziraphale goes but Gabriel can sense him lingering nearby and the act, on the edge of disobedience is enough for him to mentally upgrades Aziraphale from a mere worry to an outright threat. 

The plant really does work though. 

Gabriel takes to Miracling a small sachet of the plant, called Jasmine he later learns, to keep on his person when he will be interacting with humans. He doesn’t know it, will not know it before the End Times, but this smell and the plant itself become deeply entrenched in the human understanding of Gabriel-the-Archangel. 

Gabriel never acts on his worries about Aziraphale. The same isolation that makes the other angel so vulnerable also inoculates the rest of the Host against his weaknesses. 

Besides, the Principality seemed genuinely shaken by the events of the crucifixion and Gabriel hopes he’ll finally _listen_. The others listen to him and so they have not Fallen. 

No one else has Fallen. 

He won’t let them. 

He failed before, he won’t again. 

Over time he develops a sort of gregarious positivity that seems to work well; his voice booms out cheerful and loud and his smile is broad, with teeth and wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. He holds himself tall and proud and finds that the others turn to him for advice or help when they need it. 

Michael asks how they might punish the wicked. 

Sandalphon, the new member of the sphere of Archangels[3], turns to him when uncertain. 

Uriel eventually speaks to him again, though they never approach closer than an arms length away. 

He’s loud and he’s bright and they’re all safe. 

They’re safe. 

.

(The prickling sensation never truly leaves him, but he’s also never become lost in his mind again. He counts that as a win.) 

.

Then, well, it’s time for the Great Plan. Time for the wheels of Fate to turn and the final battle to play out. 

Time for Heaven to finally triumph over Hell. 

He wonders if, when their brother is dead, Uriel will be as they were. He misses them. It’s a weakness, but one he can’t refuse or expunge. 

He gathers the troops, calls them forward, and give speeches. He delivers word to every agent in every corner of the Universe and acting in his true purpose gives him hope. 

Then, when Michael tells him that Hell has delivered the AntiChrist, he goes to give Aziraphale the good news. 

Perhaps now, with the End of Days upon them, the rebellious little Principality will finally (finally) listen to him. 

No. 

He will listen. 

Gabriel will not allow anything less. 

Not now, not when the stakes are so high. 

_He will make himself be heard_. 

* * *

Footnotes:

1And isn’t that a fun concept? Soon. Things can take long or short amount of time to occur. He’s miserable in a way he doesn’t think will ever abate, but things are changing so quickly now that he can ignore it.[return to text]

2He does not stop the examine the fact that he is excited. This is the first true message he has been permitted to deliver in centuries and there is nothing quite like being able to fulfill one’s purpose.[return to text]

3Gabriel cannot think of him as a sibling because that is not what he is. He’s a risen human, a flaming brand to be used as a weapon against those who do wrong. He’s also unsettling in a way Gabriel cannot understand, but _can_ wield.[return to text]


End file.
